From her research – of which there was far more than she’d admitted to Greg – the missing girl had last been seen leaving a dance in the village hall to walk home through the woods. There had been no mention of where her home was exactly, except to say it was twenty minutes away on foot, and it had been midsummer, which meant it was still light when she’d set off.

Of course, the police and a band of local volunteers had conducted an intensive search of the woods and the surrounding area, which had gone on for days, but no trace of her had ever been found.

There had been numerous rumours as to what may have happened, including that she might simply have run away. Apparently Ailsa had done that in the past, when her family were living in Glasgow. In fact, it had been reported that her parents had brought her to Blackrig to get her away from a bad crowd in the city.

Joanne came to a halt, realizing by the signpost that this was a pedestrian entrance to the managed woodland that surrounded the village, and from here she might reach the carving trail and the cemetery, eventually emerging onto Main Street next to the village hall.

Taking the needle-strewn steps into the trees, she was immediately struck by how different these surroundings were from the woods near the Party House. There, the trees had been much older, a remnant of the ancient Caledonian Forest. Here, young, tall and straight, they reached for the sky, their bases buried in a wondrous carpet of heather and what looked like fruiting bushes of future dark-purple berries.

Setting off along the clearly marked path, the blue of the sky visible among the softly swaying treetops, she could understand why walking home this way, in the brightness of a northern midsummer’s evening, would have held no qualms for Ailsa.

She thought of the girl’s photograph used in the search. It was obviously a selfie, plucked from an Instagram or Facebook account, showing a pretty pouting face and long blonde hair.

There had been half-a-dozen witnesses, who’d all confirmed that they’d seen her leave by the back door of the hall and set off into these woods.

The big question remained. Was she really heading home? Or was she intent on meeting someone?

The village had had its fair share of tourists that night, some staying at the hotel and in the scattered B&Bs round about. Many of the visitors had been at the dance. Then there were the local men, all of whom would have known Ailsa.

Reaching a fork in the path, and choosing the route to the carvings, Joanne quickly found herself heading steeply downwards through denser tree cover and undergrowth. Minutes later, she emerged into the open space she’d viewed through her spyglass.

Joanne caught her breath in wonderment.